


Hold On Me

by Bom_Bidi_Bom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace Stuff, Castiel Has Feelings for Dean Winchester, Cliche, Dean Winchester Has Feelings For Castiel, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Profound Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bom_Bidi_Bom/pseuds/Bom_Bidi_Bom
Summary: "Human souls are unique and full of raw power. Its…distinctiveness, is what makes it so irresistible and succulent. I’ve consumed countless souls in my time. But you, you are different,” she finishes off thoughtfully.“Your soul, while entirely human is tinged with… divine energy. It pulses and intertwines with every part of you. Its… magnificent.” she finishes off, her voice now eager and greedy.Dean is captured by a monster that eats souls and who opens his eyes to the possibility that he may have feelings for his "buddy" Cas.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 59





	Hold On Me

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to everyone who stumbles or decides to read this fic. This is my first Destiel fanfic, so I apologise for any errors or mischaracterisation. This year, I had the pleasure of watching Supernatural again and falling in love with this beautiful couple. I went down a massive rabbit-hole of fanfics, which I'm sure is a common occurrence. Anyway, I love all the profound bond and soul things involving Dean and Cas and I just wanted to write something where Dean has to talk about his feelings, hence this fic. Do not take anything in this fic too seriously. It is just for fun. Please leave a kudos or a comment if you like the fic. If you do not, that's okay too, but please be kind about it. 
> 
> This fic isn't set in a specific season or time; it can be read as a few years after Cas raises Dean from Hell and they boys are one big happy family. 
> 
> Any errors in this fic are my own. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Dean woke up to the sounds of drums, beating out its rhythm incessantly. Except in was not really drums and the pounding was solely in his head, preventing him from going back to sleep. What did he drink last night? As far as hangovers go, this had to be in his top five. He either drank way too much or he was getting old, the latter a thought he refused to entertain. He was not old dammit!

The only other explanation would that he overindulged the night before. Except, now that he thinks about it, he wasn’t drinking. Recognition slammed into him. They were hunting, Sammy and him. Awareness filtered into his body and he found he was bound to something. Eyes still closed, he worked on moving his hands first. They were buckled into something, the leather of the band tight as it bore down on his wrists when he tried to break free. Next he wiggled his leg, only to be met with resistance around his ankle. Breaking his resolve he opened his eyes and worked on figuring out his surroundings. He was lying on a heavy slab of wood, a stretcher of some kind, in an upright position. The room was dimly lit, candles strewn throughout the space. It was not an overly large room, the light illuminating it to project an old glow. His stretcher was in the middle of the room, almost as if he was at the centre of its attention. That gave him a slight advantage. He was privy to at least two thirds of the space, able to anticipate movement and react accordingly. At least that is what he told himself. In reality… 

He was captured, trapped and worst of all he did not know by what. How did this always happen? Shaking off the irritation, Dean focused on what he did know. This creature fed of souls. At first he and Sam thought it was a Shtriga because the first few victims were children and were working on a plan to kill it while feeding. Except the next kill was a nerdy teenage boy, gangly limbs, all books and no play. The last victim was an adult female. No pattern. No hint as to why these people were dying. 

The boys were at a loss at that point. Sam said he would go back to the library to do more research and Dean decided to interview the last victim’s husband. That had led him to the local pub and after receiving no workable leads from the distraught husband, decided to go back to the motel. 

…Except he never made it the motel. How did he even get captured? The throbbing in his head made him think he received a hit. He hates this part. When he has to wake up and wonder what the hell happened to him. He did not have to wonder long as at that moment Dean registered movement at the corner of his eye. A young man made his way towards Dean. Not a young man, a boy. He looked young, 17 at most. He was of average height, shaggy blond hair and moved with uncertainty in each step. 

He didn’t talk as he made his way to Dean and over to the small table at the side of his stretcher. He then moved to stand in front of Dean and raised his hand, “hey! Hey! Don’t you dare touch me!” Dean barked in response, squirming away from the pale hand. 

His protests were of no avail as the boy ran a cloth over his face, as if he was clearing it of any dirt or smudge. He moved to towards the table again and with his body angled, Dean could not see what the boy was tinkering with. 

Dean focusing on the clasps that held his hands in place, he continued speaking, deciding a distraction would work best, “listen here you little shit…” Dean was not going to get captured by this, this…child. Before he could finish his sentence the boy was wiping off a ball gag. 

Oh hell no, “I’m all for the kinky stuff,” he huffed in panicked amusement, “but if you bring that thing near me, I will break you, and not in a kinky way,” he finished off, his voice low, the threat clear. 

“Lionel,” a new voice warned, halting the boy’s movements. Lionel! Really? Who has a stupid name like that? 

Dean looked at the corner of the room, where the voice came from. Dressed in a floor length gown, was a dark haired woman. Lionel, god, he can’t call this…toddler Lionel, stepped away from him, putting the gag back onto the table. “Down boy,” Dean taunted with a shit-eating grin. What can he say? Dean likes to be a dick, every now and then. 

The sound of heel clicks echoed across the room and Dean switched his focus to the woman as she made her way towards him, confidence as bold as the red of her dress. He resumed his ministrations on the clasps of his hands again. He had momentarily forgot to work on freeing himself, when Lionel, he made a face at the thought, had aimed a ball gag in his direction. 

“My pet here tells me that you are quite the snack; the most delicious soul he has ever come across. I wonder…” she trails off thoughtfully as her manicured finger trails across his cheek. 

He turns his face, recoiling at her touch, “what are you?” he asks instead. If he can keep her busy maybe he can buy himself some time to escape his restraints.

Her ruby lips widened in a small smile, almost taunting, “Does it matter?” 

“You know what, you’re right, it doesn’t matter. I’m going to kill you either way,” he responds, his voice full of venom. He had reached his limit at that point. He was tired. He just wanted to go back to the motel, drink a beer, and eat a burger and sleep. 

She tilts her head to the side, “now that’s not nice.”

Her finger continue to caress his cheek, and God, he hates her touch. “So much hostility, for such a pretty soul.” She is close enough that the breath of her whisper fans his face. Instead of looking away he solidifies his glare. 

She steps back and rubs the palms of her hands together, “Let’s find out what we have here,” her eyes flash with a green tint and she fixes her gaze at his chest area. He still has not been able to free himself and by the looks of it he may be physically restrained by some kind of extra juice, judging from her eyes. 

Her eyes bore into him, studying and analysing him, before she lets out a gasp, “what are you?” Her voice holds genuine confusion and the green around her irises fade away. She is looking at him, waiting for an answer but continues speaking before he can utter a sarcastic remark. 

“You are human, that much I can discern. Your soul is brighter, brighter than even I have ever encountered and looks so…” she licks her lips, “…delectable.” 

“Okay lady, that’s just nasty,” Dean remarks as he scrunches his face in disgust. 

She ignores his words and carries on, frustrated at her lack of knowledge, “you do not understand. Human souls are unique and full of raw power. Its…distinctiveness, is what makes it so irresistible and succulent. I’ve consumed countless souls in my time. But you, you are different,” she finishes off thoughtfully. 

This just went from weird to crazy. Dean hated when people commented on his soul. That whole Righteous Man shtick was annoying as it is. It makes Dean uncomfortable, even when Cas brings it up. But even when Cas does talk about it he doesn’t talk about Dean like this, like he is a piece of meat…literally…in this case. It makes Dean’s uncomfortable because he is not the man Cas think’s he is. His soul is nothing like Cas describes; it’s broken beyond repair and no matter how many people Dean saves, it will never make his soul be what Cas thinks he sees when he looks at Dean. 

His thoughts make him miss what the crazy lady was spewing, “it’s more though, your soul, while entirely human is tinged with… divine energy. It pulses and intertwines with every part of you. Its… magnificent.” she finishes off, her voice now eager and greedy. It makes Dean’s stomach roll unpleasantly and her words baffle him. Divine energy? What the hell? 

She rests her hand on his chest and Dean is squirming uncomfortably, hoping to break himself free. Where the hell is Sam? He doesn’t want to die like us. Death by crazy bitch, eating his soul. 

Her hand is on his chest but it feels like its seeping into his body, past his skin, into his blood. The pain is excruciating, like thousands of pin-pricks into his very being, all working in tandem. It continues on, and he feels like he is losing himself, bit by bit until the pin-pricks stop their agonising pace. 

The burn slows down, diminishing in intensity. Crazy lady’s eyes widen in shock, before she is screaming. Somehow the agony transferred to her. Her hands are glowing and her eyes are glowing, but not in a good way. Dean is losing his energy. She is taking it from him, forcefully. There’s a burst of light and in a split second her eyes have burned out. It looks like the many angel vessels after they have been smited. Except that is impossible. 

Lionel is hysterical, “master, master?” He is frantic in his worry, and within seconds his focus is on Dean, advancing towards him. Before he lays a hand on him, Lionel is being smited; this time, by an actual angel. Cas has appeared, and with it so has Dean’s relief. Cas is taking care of Lionel and has made his way to Dean even before Lionel’s lifeless body has reached the floor. 

“Dean!” Cas voice echoes, deep and so so welcome to Dean’s ears at this moment. Cas snaps his fingers and the restraints holding him in place are suddenly gone and the hunter is dropping to the ground. Cas grabs him by the waist and before Dean can blink they are at the motel room. Dean barely has time to register Sam’s lurch from the table before he is retching all over Sam’s front. 

“Erg! Dean!” Sam says in disgust, but the worry and relief is clear to Dean’s ears even in his exhausted state. 

“M’ sorry Sammy,” Dean mumbles. Cas’ instant flying is horrible on a normal day, add whatever the hell soul thing happened and Dean’s wrecked. “Cas, warn a guy,” Dean continues tiredly as Cas leads him to the bed. He makes Dean sit gently onto the mattress, talking to Sam as he works, “Dean has suffered a great deal of damage to his body and soul. He needs rest and fluids. You need to keep him hydrated Sam.” Dean barely registers the words, collapsing onto the pillow and closes his eyes. 

“I have to go Dean. I need to take care of the bodies. I will be back for you,” Dean doesn’t need to see Cas’ face to know he is filled with urgency and intensity; Dean can hear it in his voice. Dean attempts to nod his head in agreement, as he is unable to react in any other way, too weak to level Cas’s stare with his own. 

He doesn’t hear Cas leave but he hears Sam coming closer, pulling the duvet over Dean. He mumbles what he assumes is a “thanks.” Sam is walking away before Dean forces himself to say one last thing before sleep overtakes him, “Sammy, thanks for sending Cas.”

“That’s the thing Dean, I didn’t send Cas.” Sam responds, worry etched onto his features, but Dean is already asleep. 

__________________________________________________________________________ 

Cas is avoiding him. Dean knows that much. 

Ever since he saved him from the clutches of the evil lady that wanted to eat his soul. How is this his life? Seriously? Well, apparently that lady was a Goddess or whatever, according to Sam.

Cas has been avoiding him. He’s tried calling the man, tried luring him in for a hunt, even prayed for him but the Angel still has not shown his face. 

It’s seriously pissing him off. Not to mention Sam keeps hounding him about what happened and if he was okay. If he needed more time to rest. Dean’s given Sam the gist of the story; however, he left out the part about his soul being riddled with divine energy. He does not know what that means and he does not want to give his brother something to worry about or to ask more questions about. 

The truth is; is that he frustrated by what his captor said to him, because he does not know what it means. He suspects… no… he knows Cas knows what it means. There’s no other logical explanation for him to be avoiding Dean. He does not know exactly what happened to him and Dean hates not knowing stuff. 

Him and Sam are at another crappy motel. They just bought dinner and they are both sprawled on their respective crappy beds, watching crappy TV. Sam is trying really hard to make things seem light-hearted, but the tension permeates the calm mood both brothers are trying to project. Dean is trying to ignore thinking about Cas and what the angel may know and focus on the TV. Sam is doing the same thing, focusing his attention on the television but keeps stealing furtive glances at Dean with his patented “I-am-deeply-concerned” face. Dean wants so badly to tell him to stop but he already felt bad about snapping at Sam earlier so he grinds his teeth and fights off the frustration. 

It’s been a few hours and Sam is asleep in the bunk next to him, but Dean can’t get his mind to stop working. His anger at not being able to talk to Cas has infiltrated his thoughts and it bleeds through his prayer to his feathered friend. He knows it’s a useless attempt; Cas hasn’t been answering but Dean can’t help it sometimes. The…prayers just come out. 

He is brought out of his reverie when he hears the flap of wings at his back. He does not need to turn around to know its Cas. 

“Hello Dean,” Cas greets with familiar gruffness and intensity that usually eases Dean but in this moment angers him. 

“Seriously? I’ve been calling you for days and you show up here with a ‘hello Dean’? He grunts out, his own voice sharp and bordering on a shout as he turns around to face the man. 

Dean places his feet on the ground takes a few steadying breaths reminding himself not to raise his voice. Cas is standing a few feet away from him and appears taller, hovering over Dean as he stands a few feet away from the bed. 

“Can I take you somewhere private where we can communicate without interruptions?” Cas implores, his voice a whisper but Dean can still hear a slight quiver in his tone. Hesitance?

With a curt nod, he gives his consent and Cas is removing his nimble fingers out of his coat pocket and towards Dean’s forehead. 

___________________________________________________________________________

Dean blinks in awareness as he tries to gather his bearings, the daylight blinding him. He hates Angel transportation. It always leaves him disorientated. He gauges his surroundings. There are outside, enclosed by trees. When he looks for Cas, he is met with the back of the angel as he makes his way towards a bench. Dean follows and watches as Cas sits on the bench positioned in front of a lake. The place is deserted, save for him and the angel. This place must be unknown to humans, a spot Cas must have discovered, which he has now decided to share with Dean. 

Cas is still on the bench, looking contemplative. His usual look whenever Dean glances at him when the angel is not looking. It doesn’t appear as if Cas is going to speak so Dean begins, “what’s going on? Why are you avoiding me man?” 

“I apologise. When I realised what you had done, I struggled with the uh…I struggled with it.” His voice was low, each word spoken slowly, hesitantly. Never one to beat around the bushes, Cas always goes straight for the jugular. No small talk, just barrels on with the main issue. 

“What did I do Cas?” he asked, unsure if he was ready for the answer but wanting to know all the same. 

“What do you think you did Dean?” Cas was looking at him now, the blue of his eyes so vast and imploring that Dean had to look away. Their positions were reversed now. Cas was the one sitting, his arms resting on his thighs, the tan of his coat billowing at the side while Dean was the one standing over him, hovering. 

“I- I – I don’t know man, I soul killed her. Except that makes absolutely no sense. But that’s what happened right? And ever since then I feel… things…and it’s weird” Dean is stuttering in his confusion. He hates admitting it but there has always been something about Cas that makes it easier for him to share and he hates that too. 

“Dean…what do you feel?” Cas sounds…scared… like he fears Dean’s words. Or maybe he fears Dean’s reaction. 

“She touched my soul, or she touched something. I felt it…the pain was unbearable…and then it was gone…seeping out of my body…and when I looked at her she was burning out and I didn’t understand why or how it was happening but I – I didn’t mind that she was dying. I wanted her to die!” He rubs his hand over his face and with that confession seats himself next to Cas in defeat. 

“She said my soul…it…my soul had divine energy” He looks at the man beside him then, wanting to puncture his words with his gaze. 

This time Cas sighs in defeat, “you have to understand Dean, when the Angels laid siege to Hell and I raised you from Perdition, I did what no Angel…no cosmic being...has ever done.” He is staring at Dean now, his eyes boring into him, forcing him to keep his gaze. “What I did to you, I needed to execute…perfectly. And that required immense concentration and consideration. I could make no error. When I was done I was…” he tilted his head in a way Dean is incredibly familiar with and now finds endearing, “…scared. I was wary that you may not be able to recover on your own. I left enough grace in you to do what I couldn’t.” 

Dean’s face betrays his emotions, shock evident in his features. Cas doesn’t talk about raising him from Hell often. He knows it’s partly because of him. Dean is very adamant against discussing Hell and Cas knows this, knows him. It’s only been a few years but Cas has broken down the fences he and Sam have so resolutely put up. Cas has broken his walls. He would never have openly discussed this before, but with Cas, it has always been easy, to share parts of himself that he never would with anyone else. What is bothering him, is that he has never acknowledged this before and he doesn’t understand why but now he is hyper aware of… everything Cas.

“So it was your grace that attacked her?” Dean finally asks, to clarify and to keep the conversation going. 

“No Dean,” the Angel stressed. “I did not leave enough grace for that. In fact, it should have disintegrated after healing you. This was you; your soul. You used my grace to fight back. But what happened, that was all you.” 

Him, Dean ponders. How did he do that? “Why didn’t it disintegrate?” 

“I can only speculate.” Cas shook his head in answer. 

“But after. I feel things Cas. Why?” This was the hardest thing he had to admit to Cas. That he had feelings. Feelings he has never acknowledged before. Maybe it was not real. Just a side-effect to having Cas’ grace. Even he knows that is a lie. That this thing with Cas is not because of Cas’ grace. It goes beyond that. It’s the way he tilts his head in confusion. It’s the way he looks at everything with unbridled curiosity. It’s the way he says Dean’s name. It’s because of something so uniquely Cas that Dean can’t help but notice at every opportunity. 

“I can’t tell you why Dean. Only you can do that. I can tell you that it’s not because of my grace.” Cas look’s scared again. Like he is afraid of what Dean may tell him. 

“Is this why you’ve been avoiding me? Because you didn’t want to tell me about your leftover grace in me?” Dean asks and answers the question in one fell swoop. 

Cas look’s guilty at the words. How is it that Dean is able to understand Cas’ expressions and emotions so easily? 

“You have been known to react…unfavourably…when informed about things of this nature.” The Angel admits reluctantly. 

“Are you saying I am an ass?” Dean asks half serious, half mocking. He knows he almost always defaults to anger. 

“You did berate Sam when he enquired about your well-being,” Cas responds immediately. 

Dean scoffs in disbelief, “that was different,” he states, “I’m not an ass!” he exclaims finally. 

“Okay Dean,” Cas agrees. He always agrees with Dean. Except this time, Dean can hear the placation in his tone. He does that too now, give humorous or sarcastic responses. He is a far cry from the man Dean met in the barn. 

Okay, he needs to stop. To process all of the things Cas has told him. But he also doesn’t want Cas to leave again; can’t stand the thought of the angel ignoring him again. “Can you give me a few minutes? To … think.” He asks timidly. He doesn’t want to come across as rude, especially after Cas basically told him he can be kinda mean and grouchy. 

Cas gives him a small smile, “Of course. I will go feed the ducks.” Cas says that so earnestly and seriously that Dean can’t help but bark out a laugh. Its things like this, that make Cas so bloody loveable. Was Cas loveable? Did Dean love Cas and not just as an awkward angelic friend that occasionally helps them stop the end of the world? 

He is picking at the grass at his feet, tearing them from the soil and overthinking Cas and feelings and whether the two of them go together. He has to admit, there is a certain attractiveness about the man. I mean, the dark wild hair and the too blue eyes are pretty good turn-ons for anyone. But Cas is more than Jimmy’s looks. And when he looks at Cas he doesn’t see Jimmy. They may share the same face, but Cas does things with that face and body that Jimmy never did and that what makes him him. That is what Dean sees, every time; would like to see every day. 

That’s what stumps him. Over the years the only person Dean sees every single day is Sam and Dean can admit that he can get tired of seeing his nerdy face. At the same time, he welcomes his brother’s presence. Sam is the only person that Dean has always known, always had, even more than his Dad. Cas is a close second. The only other person Dean sees regularly. But he doesn’t mind seeing the man daily. He can picture it, Cas hunting with them and having beers and burgers with them, talking to Sam about the lore, watching movies with Dean, touching Dean, kissing Dean. 

Without fully registering Dean is up from the bench and making his way to the edge of the lake where Cas is standing, throwing pebbles of food for the floating ducks. And Dean is grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him around. 

“You’re right. You can’t tell me how I feel. And I have been lying to myself for long enough. You’re not my friend Cas,” Cas’ faces falls at the word and Dean hastens to correct himself. “You’re not just my friend. I don’t want you to be just my friend. I want more because you are so much more than that to me.” He licks his lips, continuing, “And I wanna kiss you, like really bad Cas. But I understand if you don’t feel…” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence before Cas is grabbing the collar of his shirt and kissing him. He is slightly taller than Cas but they are at the perfect height that neither has to lean up or lean down into the kiss.

Kissing Cas is like drinking the perfect beer; when it’s just the right temperature that the liquid soothes as it goes down your throat; when you have no other option but to keep drinking. Cas’ lips are chapped but moisten as Dean lips cover his mouth. His hands move of their own accord cupping Cas’ cheeks, fingers gripping just below his ears. Cas’ hand on his shirt moves down, gripping tightly at the material at his stomach. The action sends a pleasant jolt to his groin. He pulls away slightly, needing to breathe and Cas’ mouth follows him, breathing a luxury to the angel. It’s intoxicating. 

He places his forehead to Cas and looks at him until the angel open’s his eyes, surprise clouding his features. “I’ve never - ” he stuttered, “does it always feel like this? Kissing someone?” Like everything Cas asks, he does it with complete curiosity.

With his grip still on Cas’ face, Dean lets out a small laugh, “it can be, with the right person.” Cas is biting his lip and Dean can’t help but lean forward to attach his mouth to those glorious lips again, addicted. Cas’ is all around him, consuming and hearty and so wonderful. 

“Dean,” Cas says, making him falter. “I need you to know that my grace doesn’t influence you. It doesn’t work like that. I need you to know that I am not making you feel anything specific about me. I am not forcing anything.” Cas is solemn and firm when he says that, needing desperately for Dean to hear the seriousness of his words. 

Dean places a quick peck on Cas’ lips, “I don’t think that Cas. I know you will never force me to do anything I don’t want to do. I’m not good at feelings, but I do want this Cas. I can say that.” He says it with the same amount of seriousness, needing Cas to see that he means it. 

“Don’t worry Dean, I’ll teach you,” Cas’ states, referring to Dean’s utter inability at manoeuvring feelings. Dean’s let out a genuine laugh, “yeah, right, because you’re an expert at human emotions.” 

Cas actually pouts, and its adorable. “Fine, we can teach each other,” Dean concedes before leaning down to capture Cas’ lips again.

**Author's Note:**

> So...thoughts? I hope it wasn't too terrible. I would like to say I have no ill feelings towards the name Lionel, or anything else mentioned in a negative light. I just felt like being in Dean's head means being easily irritated at minors things, the name Lionel being one of them. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
